


summer days (i will fight for you)

by cottoncandychannie



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Falling In Love, Homophobia, M/M, Romance, Soulmate AU, Soulmate au where whatever you write on yourself shows up on your soulmate, hyuck needs a hug, middle class mark, rich donghyuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-30 11:15:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14495751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cottoncandychannie/pseuds/cottoncandychannie
Summary: "he walked into my heart like he always belonged there, took down my walls and set my soul on fire."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for taking time out of your day to click on my story! it really means a lot! also, i know the summary is shit but according to my english teacher, i'm shit at making summaries so.... this is unedited by anyone but me lazily glancing over it so sorry for any mistakes. please enjoy!

Mark was eight years old when he got the talk. He had been playing innocently with a small toy keyboard shaped like a cat that would play various sounds depending on which key he pressed when his father called him downstairs. It took his parents about ten minutes to make the small child sit still on the kitchen chair. After all, he was just a eight year old boy who was more interested in messing around with his kitty piano or climbing trees outside rather than sitting in the hard chair for much longer than he wanted. The only reason he liked sitting in the cold chair was because there was usually a promise of food. Why would his parents make him sit here for so long if they weren't going to give him any snacks? That wasn't fair.

“Mark, sweetie, we’re going to need you to listen to us for a second please. It won't take too long but this is important.” His mother leans across the table to take Mark’s small hand in hers. He hums in response, wanting this to be over soon so he can go back upstairs where his toys are waiting.

“What do you know about soulmates?”

“Um. They kiss you and give you cooties. Do I have to have one? Auntie Kim was telling me about how she returned all those clothes she bought for Jisung that didn’t fit him. Can’t I just return my soulmate like that? I don’t want cooties and kisses are gross.” Mark looks up at his parents as he speaks with big, genuine and innocent eyes.

His father lets out a deep laugh and shakes his head a few times, “I don't think it works like that. Your soulmate is the person who was made just for you, and you were made just for them. They’re your perfect other half.”

“Mhm, and how am I supposed to find this ‘perfect person’ then?” Mark quips with all the attitude a child would have, earning himself a small glare from his mother. She’d always taught him to be respectful and he thinks that maybe the way he said that wasn’t up to her standards of respect.

“That’s the fun part!” His father grabs the thin washable marker that was laying on the table and uncaps it, bringing the tip to his forearm. Mark watches with curiosity as his dad drags the marker over and over again on his skin in a pattern Mark can’t yet see.

“Look here, Mark.” His mother whispers to him, holding her forearm out for him to see.

The small boys mouth drops open in awe as he watches the elegant curves of his father’s handwriting miraculously appear on his mom's skin. His young and innocent mind can't seem to wrap its head around how it was possible that anything his dad wrote on his skin could also appear on his mother’s. He thinks for a second that his parents must be like the superheroes he reads about in the comics just with a way lamer power. I mean, what good would being able to write on each other do if there's bad guys trying to take over the city? But he quickly rebukes that idea. The only powers his parents have is the power to make Mark take naps when he definity does not want to and the power to make him go to school against his will.

Well, his dad can pull a penny from behind Mark’s ear and even though Mark still doesn’t understand how exactly he can do that because Mark never feels a penny behind his ear. He checks thoroughly several times a day. Even though he thinks about how it’s possible all the time, he rules that out as a superpower as well. His parents must be really lame superheroes.

‘’Do you know how I did that?” His dad asks, putting the cap back on the marker and placing it down.

“Is it because you are superheroes?” Mark says, truly hoping that the answer is no because he will not sit here having lame superheroes for parents. They have to have a cool power like fire breathing or super strength.

This time it’s his mother that starts laughing first. “Oh my god. It’s because we’re soulmates, you dummy.” She pinches his cheeks with a grin but pulls away before he can slap her fingers away. “Whenever a person writes on their skin, the same marks will show up on their soulmates skin. That’s the kind of luxury humans have. Anything will show up, like when you do art projects at school and come home with Crayola marker all over your fingers, those smudges also showed up on your soulmates hands, wherever they may be.”

Mark looks down at his fingers with a small frown, “I’ve never had that happen to me…”

“It’s okay. Your soulmate may not have been born yet. Or they may be a baby who’s not at the age of messing around with markers quite yet. Or they may simply not be ready for you to know about them yet. My roommate in college didn’t let anything touch his skin till he was 10 because he was scared of being rejected. Give them time.”

Without any further conversation, Mark snatches the marker off the table and sprints up the stairs to his room. He didn’t care if he soulmate isn’t ready, because he is. With one final burst of energy he slams the door close, launches himself on the bed, and pulls the cap off the marker before pressing it to his skin.

-=-=-=-=-=-

For as long as he can remember, Donghyuck has been under the influence of his parents. They taught him what clothes were proper to wear at the fancy dinner parties they drag him to. How to smile at potential investors and not slouch. They taught him to only talk when spoken to and never talk back. How playing with toys was not something that Lee children did, instead they taught him to look for flaws in business transcripts and calculate advance math problems.

For as long as he can remember, Donghyuck has always known he has a soulmate somewhere out there. His parents made him understand the concept of soulmates and that his soulmate must meet their expectations. She must be from a wealthy and successful family. She must be quiet and submissive, they will not have a daughter-in-law that is wild, outspoken, and confident. She must be highly educated at the finest school but able to recognize that her purpose in life is to produce the next Lee heir. She must be able to drop all ambitions to care for the child and make sure that he is crafted perfectly so one day he can take over the company. And if it came to be that she did not meet their expectations then she would have to go and Donghyuck would be forced into an arranged marriage with someone worthy.

But Donghyuck didn’t want any of that.

It happened when he was seven. It’s a normal day for Donghyuck, nothing special or out of the ordinary.

“Master Donghyuck, I have your afternoon snack. May I come in?” A knock comes from the other side of his door and Donghyuck drops his pencil and races to the door as soon as he registers the voice. He slows down before opening it, remembering his parents rule about running, and smooths down his shirt.

“Hello, Hobin.” He says politely, just in case his parents are within earshot. “Please come in.”

The older man steps into the room with a tray in his hands and walks over to Donghyuck’s desk. Its covered in open English textbooks and scattered with partly finished worksheets. He clears a space on the table with one hand and carefully arranges the small plates filled with exotic fruits and perfectly aged cheeses. A gentle tug of his shirt sleeve catches the butler’s attention and he looks down at the small child who’s thin, overworked fingers are clutching to his cuff.

“Thank you, Hobin.” Donghyuck says with a small bow of his head before he looks up at the man with hopeful eyes. “Can you stay today?”

“I’m sorry, Master Donghyuck. You know I can’t. I’m not allowed. I’m lucky that I’m even able to bring you a snack, you know how your parents are about your study sessions.” The man reasons, patting the top of Donghyuck’s head.

“I know, I know. _Nobody must disturb Donghyuck when he is studying. He is going to take over the company one day and he must be properly prepared_.” He mocks his mother’s voice with perfectly crafted sass. “I was just hoping maybe today would be different. But it’s okay, you may go, you probably have lots of work to do.”

Donghyuck lets go of his butler’s sleeve bitterly and sits back down in his desk chair, trying to pick back up where he was in his studies. He can’t even be sad about it at this point, he’s too used to the treatment. Always alone, always studying, always preparing, never good enough.

“I’ll come collect you for dinner.” Hobin announces solemnly, walking away from the child and closing the door softly behind him.

He drops his head against the desk and starts scribbling randomly on whichever paper is on top of his small pile. All Donghyuck wants is to be a normal kid. He wants to know what it’s like to have friends his age, he wants to go to school and maybe play a sport, he wants to do more with his life than sit alone inside a room studying. He wants to be able to act like himself without the fear of getting punished by his parents if he steps past the line they’ve drawn for him.

The scribbling slowly becomes less random and more organized as he focuses more on it. It’s easy for him to slip into a trance and just draw whatever image pops up in his head. More often than not he simply doodles his favorite flowers into the margins of his notebooks or sometimes a kitten or two. Donghyuck lifts his head off the table and rests it against his open palm to give himself a better viewpoint of his drawing. Before he can think about what he’s doing, he’s sketching the outline of a head. He traces his lines until he’s satisfied with a sharp jawline and a set of ears. The pencil is soft on the paper as he lightly draws waves of short hair in a stylish uncut.

Donghyuck feels it before he sees it.

Throughout his seven years of life, his soulmate has never done anything other than be messy with markers, resulting in his father making him wear gloves and long sleeve shirts whenever they go out for an important event; or just whenever there will be cameras present and the chance that someone could snap their picture. But this is different.

He can’t help but think it’s beautiful. One by one lines appear on his tanned skin and come together to form messy script on the underside of his left forearm. The handwriting is atrocious and looks like it was done by a four-year-old only starting to learn how to write by Donghyuck doesn’t care. The black words on his skin become blurry as his eyes well up with joyous tears.

**HI!!! Omg you’re my soulmate! IM MARK**

Donghyuck laughs and a tear rolls down his cheek. As if his legs can control themselves Donghyuck is running out of his room and down the stairs to his parent’s study where they are most likely discussing their next project for the company. He sprints into the room without regarding their no running rule. He doesn’t think about how they hate when he cries because it shows weakness. He doesn’t think about the punishments he will get for interrupting their work. And most importantly, he doesn’t think about the male name written on his arm.

“Mom! Dad!” The study door swings open and Donghyuck yells, his voice full of excitement and pure happiness.

“Donghyuck, what have I told you about calling us that?” His mother says, setting down the papers she was reviewing before stalking up to the much smaller boy. She towers over him and he immediately thinks that he should have stayed in his bedroom.

He bows his head, “I apologize, Mother.”

“Much better. Why are you here? You should be in your room reviewing the materials we gave you.” He can’t help but flinch away and cower when she places her cold hand on his shoulder, her sharp manicured nails digging into his flesh. “I have told you to never interrupt us when we are working, have I not? Donghyuck, answer me.”

“Y-you have.”

Dread drapes itself over Donghyuck like the most unwanted, uncomfortable blanket and he can almost feel his blood freezing in his veins. He doesn’t dare to look up, he can already imagine the face his mother must be sporting as she glares daggers into him and digs her nails deeper into his skin. With ever press of her fingers he sinks deeper to the ground and before he knows it he’s kneeling before her with his arm clutched securely to his chest. This was a mistake is the only thing running through Donghyuck’s head. He can’t risk exposing his soulmate marks to them now, or possible ever.

“So please enlighten me, sweetheart.” Her lips drip with poison and he can sense her lowering to his level. He won’t lift his head, he just can’t. His whole body feels like he looked into the eyes of Medusa and he can’t move an inch even if he wanted to. She releases her hold on his shoulder and for a second Donghyuck thinks that its over. He unwillingly lets out a surprised gasp as she curls her cold fingers around his chin and lifts his head harshly until they are face to face, her cat-like eyes boring into his. “What made you think you could come in here and in such a fashion too? Have we not taught you better, you ungrateful brat!”

He closes his eyes and braces himself mentally and physically for the blow. But it never comes.

“Wait.”

His father's deep voice rumbles and echoes through the room, it seems like time itself has been frozen and Donghyuck shivers as a chill runs down his spine and all the tiny hairs on his body stand up still. The grip his mother has on his chin vanishes and she stands above him with one hand ready to strike, his head drops from the lack of support and he comes face to face with the hardwood floor beneath him once again. With every step his father takes closer, blood rushes to his face and his heart feels like it about to explode out of his chest. The anticipation and chilling fear is too much for the boy to handle. He thinks that he should be used to this by now but everytime he causes himself to be in this situation, it feels like the first time.  
  


The tips of his father’s steel-toed dress shoes come into view and shine in the light from the many polishes and oils the house staff use on them throughout the week. Tension is heavy in the air and Donghyuck feels like there’s a massive weight pushing his body closer and closer to the floor. He flinches, and his eyes fly open, dripping with tears, as his father’s hand rests on top of his head. Thoughts of that could be coming fly through his head and his breaths come out ragged and quick.

“Sweet Donghyuck.” His father gently pats his head, petting and running his fingers through Donghyuck’s hair. “We have a lot of rules in this household, don’t we? But what’s our number one rule, Donghyuck? The most important one we told you never to forget.”

Sweat rolls down the side of the child’s face and his heart beats loudly in his throat, making his voice come out choked and weak, “N-ever h-hide anything…”

“Exactly. Never hide anything from us, no matter what it is. You’re not allowed to have secrets. You do only what we tell you and nothing else. You don’t get to have the luxury of secrets, Donghyuck.” The hand in his hair stills.

_If there’s anyone out there listening. Please help me._

Donghyuck winces and let’s go of the tears he’s holding back. It’s too much now. His father twists his thick fingers into his honey locks and pulls the boy to his feet, ripping strands from their place in Donghyuck scalp. Fire flows through his body, originating where his father pulls harder and then melting through every inch it can touch. The tears are flowing freely and there's no way Donghyuck could stop them now even if he wanted to. Their rule about not crying be damned.

With his other hand, Donghyuck’s father grabs the arm he is still hiding against his chest and pulls it free, black words now open and free for the entire world to see. “Yet, here you are, hiding your damned soulmate message from us.”

“Mark. How can you be such a failure, Donghyuck? You fail at everything, even just getting your soulmate right. A fucking boy, Donghyuck. Do you know what this means? Our company is going to decline because we have a faggot son, our name is going to become the laughing stock of the business world.” His father’s words ooze with venomous hatred, low and seemingly calm. With a burst of strength, he throws the small boy on the floor and his body rolls a few times before hitting a small wooden table leg. “ _Worthless_.”

A deep maniac laugh registers from the man’s chest, “Of fucking course we end up with a son who gets a male soulmate. You’ve always been an issue. You never listen and no matter how much we try to train you to be a proper heir, you just have to go and throw all of our earnest efforts down the drain. How did we end up with a fucking gay son? It’s the easiest thing in the world, Donghyuck. Simply get a female soulmate from a good family. If she’s not well behaved, then it’s easy to force her into submission. But now, god, how can we even go public with this.

We can’t. You’ll ruin everything we’ve worked hard to get. So, I'm going to say this once and you’re going to take every single one of my words and engrain them somewhere deep inside you and never forget them. _No soulmate_. No communicating with them. No drawing on your skin. From now on you will wear long sleeves, gloves, and even a damned facemask if it comes to that. Do you understand me, Donghyuck? _No Mark_.”

The small boy shakes and cries violently curled up against the table. Everything going on is too much for his seven-year-old mind and body and the only thing he can’t hear in his mind is his father screaming “worthless, failure, and no soulmate” over and over again. His whole body is numb, and the tears blur his vision and wet his cheeks.

At this point, Donghyuck is nowhere near being able to completely take in what's happening around him. He doesn’t notice his mother standing a few feet away with her arms crossed and not a single ounce of regret can be found on her face as she watches what her husband did to her child. He doesn't notice his father find a sharpie marker and he certainly doesn’t notice him writing **“Stay away from me. Don't talk to me. I don't want you. I don't need a soulmate”** right under Mark’s words on his forearm.

All he knows is that he does want his soulmate, he wants Mark, whoever he may be. And Donghyuck knows, even as a tiny seven-year-old, that he won’t let anybody take that away from him.


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this has taken so long and its not even a good update... school has been stressing me out and trying to figure out how to apply for college and meeting the deadlines has me wanting to bury a hole and die in there. Once I finish SAT testing and get past the next two weeks Im going to try to write way way way more of this. hopefully this update is enough for now.

Mark sits eagerly on his mattress. It hasn’t even been ten minutes since he wrote the small message on his arm, but to the eight-year-old, it feels like it's been an eternity and all he wants is to talk to his soulmate. He wants to know if this soulmate thing is all that everyone has hyped it up to be.

Outside his bedroom window, the sun shines high in the sky and he can hear the neighborhood children throwing around balls and chasing the ice cream truck. It’s the summer and after a hectic year in second grade, all Mark wants to do is relax in his house and listen to music. Plus, he’s excited because his mom has been talking about teaching him how to play piano, an actual piano, not his toy cat one, even if all the kids at school tell him that music is lame, and he should play football with them instead. He just can’t seem to find the motivation to kick a ball around a field and run way more than desirable. He’ll just leave that to them.

It’s hot in his room, despite the air conditioning being on high and having the window open to circulate the air, sweat is causing Mark’s shirt to stick to his back and rolls in small droplets down his face. It’s torture. This is another reason he can add to his list on why music is better than sports. It’s hot outside and frankly, he doesn’t really enjoy sweating, especially if it’s because some old guy with bad breath is forcing him to run laps around a field. See, Mark would much rather spend his summer learning how to play the piano with his mom and maybe accompanying his dad to his photography sessions.

Mark gives up on staring at his arm, his grandma told him that a watched pot never boils so he guesses that the same rules apply for this. He’s not going to get anywhere just hopelessly gazing at something that may never come. With a sigh, he flops onto his back and twists into his red fuzzy blanket. The tree outside his window blows slightly with the summer breeze, sending a calming ruffle sound and nature scent into his room. Birds chirp relentlessly on its branches, calling out for their mates to come back and feed the newly hatched babies and carrying the melodious sound of a summer morning with them wherever they go.

Further into the city, an ambulance siren wails causing the dogs next door to continuously bark at the sound. Mark likes to think that dogs bark at ambulances as their way of telling the first responders to hurry up and quickly get to their destination so they can help whoever called them out. He buries himself deeper into the blankets, fighting off the heat induced drowsiness. He probably would have fallen asleep right then and there and most likely would have slept until dinner time if it wasn't for the tingling sensation on the forearm.

He’s never felt pain like this before.

It’s almost indescribable. It hurts more than the time he fell out of a tree and broke his arm, more than the deep gash he got on his foot from a jagged rock in the river last summer. It hurts more than his parents pulling him out of school to take him to the vet where their family dog laid on his deathbed.

For a second everything feels clear. Time stops. The world falls silent and still around where Mark sits on his bed. A cloud rolls over the sun, taking away the light and warmth of summer, replacing it with cool darkness. The children no longer play outside, the birds stop chirping on their branches, the dogs end their barking because the ambulances are mute, even the light breeze that once left his curtains flowing ceases to exist. All that Mark can focus on is the dark bolded letters printed on his arm.

Its harsh in the way the handwriting looks flawless, the english bleeds its words of rejection deep into his pores and stabs its dagger straight into the middle of his heart, shattering it until it's nothing but dust too destroyed to piece back together. He almost wishes it was a language he didn't know, maybe if he couldn't read and understand the sentences then it would hurt less. His arm drops lifeless onto the bed, tears fall without his consent and everything feels numb.

He isn’t sure when he starts screaming. He knows it's him wailing and the weight against his chest makes him grab at his throat in an attempt to open up his airway. His parents find him moments later, curled on the bed and screaming until his voice goes hoarse. The sheets are soaked with tears and spotted with blood from his are where he tried to claw the words away. But it was a fruitless attempt, the words stayed bold as ever and mocked him. His mother gasps when she sees the print on her son’s skin, she pulls him onto her lap and rocks him gently.

“It’s okay, Mark. It’s okay.”

But it’s not okay. His soulmate doesn’t want him. The one person who was made for him, rejected him. Mark buries his head in his mother’s neck and soaks her shirt with tears.

About 45 minutes later the boy’s harsh cries degrade to quiet hiccups that send tremors through his small form. Across the room, Mark’s father sits in the rocking chair pushed up against the wall, cradling a first safety box in his arms as he watches his son finally calm down in his wife’s embrace. It’s nothing like the older man has ever seen before, he was lucky enough with his life to never have to watch someone be rejected by their soulmate, it was one of the most painful experiences a person could go through. And to now have to sit and watch his son go through that when there's absolutely nothing he could do to soothe his broken heart, hurt. It really hurt.

He slowly gets up, the chair creaking from his weight. “Mark, can I see your arm? I need to stop the bleeding.” 

The child weakly lays his arm out without moving his head from where it rests against his mother’s chest. She rubs his back with one hand and runs the other through his hair, it’s calming but Mark’s heart aches for reasons his young brain can’t yet comprehend. With gentle fingers, his father cleans the dried blood from Mark’s skin with a wet rag. Seeing the words more closely, he’s almost glad that they are there. He immediately hates himself for thinking that, but the words are too perfectly printed for Mark’s soulmate to be anywhere remotely close to Mark’s age. If his son’s soulmate was some adult that already had their life together and didn’t need some young soulmate whose handwriting is clearly one of a child’s, then he’s a little glad things turned out this way.

“Son, I know that this is painful, but just because your soulmate said this doesn’t mean you’ll never find love. There are so many people out there that were born with no soulmate, or their soulmate died before they could meet, or had a situation like you. You’ll find someone to dedicate yourself to, just give it time. Mark? Can you hear me?” Mark rubs his cheek into his mother’s shirt and lets out a faint sigh. “I think he’s asleep.”

“That’s good. He wore himself out with all that crying, I’m surprised he didn’t fall asleep sooner.” She runs her fingers through Mark’s hair once more and slowly moves the child back under his covers. “We need to talk, Hyunwon.”

The two parents look over their oldest child with sad eyes and heavy hearts. Once they are both outside the room and the door is closed, Mark’s father takes his wife’s hand and tucks a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. “I don’t think we should delay the move anymore, Hayoon. Especially with this happening now, a new environment and a fresh start could be good for him.” His wife nods in agreement, leaning her head against his chest. “I’ll call the movers and the real-estate company to see if we can move in early since the house is already done. Can you contact the airlines and get us the plane tickets? Most of the stuff here is pretty close to being ready for the move since we’ve been planning.”

In the midst of their conversation, the two adults fail to hear the creak of a door opening at the end of the hallway and the patter of tiny feet padding closer.

“Daddy? Are we moving?” Jeno asks with wide, curious eyes.

The child stands with his arms, covered in specks and marks of random color dangling loosely at his sides and donning an oversized Naruto t-shirt that goes down to just above his knees. His hair falls over his forehead, ruffled from sleep with strands sticking out and defying gravity. His facial expression is calm, curious with the idea of moving still lingering in the air, but calm and his parents almost breathe out a sigh of relief at that alone. They’d been stressing for weeks on how to break the news to their sons about moving. And not only just moving to other town nearby, but all the way across the globe to a different country.

“Jeno-ah, come here.” His mother crouches down and beckons the child with open arms.

His bare feet thump silently against the carpet floors and he sleepily collapses in his mother’s embrace.

“Baby, why did you color your foot green?” Hayoon asks, looking down at Jeno’s tiny foot that was so clearly covered in streaks of green marker.

“I didn’t mommy…” His voice gets softer as his eyes start to flutter close as sleep takes over and Jeno is thrust back into dreamland.

Hayoon scoops her youngest son further into her arms and stands up with his sleep-induced, limp body. The two parents didn’t think that both of their sons would end up with soulmate marks on their bodies when they woke up this morning, but they were relieved that Jeno’s were still the signs of playful child’s play. Unlike Mark, Jeno’s soulmate was quite the artist, causing the younger boy to constantly be covered in marks of color or maybe a finger or two colored pink every now and then.

“I guess we’re not explaining the move to either child tonight.” Hyunwon says warmly. “C’mon, lets put him back to bed.”

-=-=-=-=--=-

With one final kick to his stomach, Donghyuck’s mother follows her husband out of the office, leaving her son violently crying on the floor as he spits up a mouthful of blood onto the pristine carpet that was most likely a gift from some old guy in a high public position. Donghyuck couldn't care less if he ruined the carpet in that moment. If it had been hours before, before his soulmate finally said something that wasn't dots of color over his hands, then he would have panicked for hours about what to do and how he could hide the stain from his parents. But now, with the clear rejection bolded on his arm and lingering tension in the air, Donghyuck bled freely onto the rug, soaked it with tears, and twisted the fine wool with his small fingers without a care in the world.

He thinks, as he brings his knees to his chest despite the protesting burn in his abdomen, that somewhere out there, a boy by the name of Mark is withering in pain, suffering from deep heartache by the words his father dug into his arm, and Donghyuck cries a little harder. His hair is matted down, the blood-soaked strands drying until they go from being fluffy and soft to sticky and crusted by blood. Once ironed and crisp clothes now rumpled and wrinkled beyond belief.

“Young Master?” Donghyuck cannot even register the voice of Hobin hovering above him or the large hand softly tapping his shoulder. “Young Master Donghyuck, please get up. We need to get you upstairs.”

Donghyuck hiccups and coughs up a little more blood that trickles down his chin, mixing with saliva. He lets out a small wail and curls into Hobin’s bent knees and the older man realizes that no matter what he says or does, Donghyuck is in no state of mind to consciously reply to him. In sight of this, Hobin carefully picks the small boy up, mindful of his injuries, and tries his best to stand up without causing Donghyuck anymore pain.

Despite the struggle of getting Donghyuck out of the office without his parents knowing, without tracking blood through the house, and without any of the other staff seeing the horrid state of the child, Hobin successful gets Donghyuck into his room and begins to clean the wounds the best he can. He applies anesthetic to the cuts and the boy doesn’t even flinch, like he was used to the pain and the thought of that further breaks the man’s already shattered heart.

Donghyuck had fallen asleep the moment Hobin laid him down on the bed, the traumatic experience and crying wore him out, which made the whole process of taking care of the boy so much easier. After the blood on his face is wiped away, Hobin carefully strips Donghyuck of his shirt and his eyes immediately start tearing up at the sight of his abdomen. To the left of his belly button, an area of skin the size of a softball was spotted black and blue, fading into yellow and red where the bruise ended, and his honey skin cleared out. It is sickening to look at knowing that the child’s own mother, the woman who is supposed to cherish and care for him, inflicted the injury out of her own free will.

Hobin flicks the lights off and leaves twenty minutes later once he is sure Donghyuck’s wounds are thoroughly dressed and he is generally okay to the extent that one who went through what he did could be. With one last silent wish goodnight, he closes the door and disappears down the hallway.

When Donghyuck’s eyes flicker open two hours later to a splintering pain in his side, for a split second he wishes he could just die right now and end all of this. End the physical pain, the emotional pain, the pain he feels deep in the core of his very being. The pain of knowing that Mark, who seemed so excited with his minimalistic introduction, was shot down in the harshest of ways. He suddenly feels as if he’s drowning, pin pricks surge through his body like a sharp wave creating shivers and causing him to sweat under the fluffy duvet. It would be easier to let the discomfort become a part of him and stay under the covers until he is nothing but dust and bones, but something sparks deep in his soul, almost like a calling of hope, and he sits up.

A few weeks ago his mother bought him some stationary markers with the hope that he would finally color code his school work like she so desperately wanted, but now, Donghyuck rushes over to them with all the speed an injured child could have and pulls them out of the drawer. It’s kind of a lost cause, this is, because Donghyuck thinks that nothing he could so could reverse the damage of his father’s own handwriting fading in his arm. But with an ounce of hope and all the love he can muster, Donghyuck begins his tiny masterpiece unknowing that the small artwork would one day become the foundation of his relationship with Mark Lee. 

Moonlight seeps in through were the curtains lazily hang open and shines upon the small child’s face and makes his tears look like liquid silver glistening on his puffy cheeks. His hand shakes as he struggles to grip the thin marker steadily but he eventually gives up and draws the first shaky stroke of orange on his honey skin. It’s beautiful really, the loops of yellow and curves of orange that blend together until Donghyuck looks down at a decently drawn Marigold flower on the inside of his foot, somewhere he knows that his parents will never see. Underneath the flower, he writes “I’m sorry” in sloppy Hangul and slips a sock on. 

 

Halfway across the world, a boy named Mark Lee wakes up to a Marigold on his foot and hope in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i chose to use marigold flowers because it has two commonly used meanings and is associated with the sun, and we all know that donghyuckie is the sun :) Marigold's represent sad goodbyes or happiness coming on day and i thought that was fitting. once again, thank you for reading this and i hope to get the next chapter out as soon as i can so bear with me! LOVE YOU ALL


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, it's been a minute hasn't it.... pls don't hate me :)

The clock reads a little after 3 am -but that cannot be right. If it is, then that means that Mark has sat in front of his laptop trying to perfect his scholarship essay for the last seven hours, and that would be insane. But the illuminating numbers don’t lie and the time at the corner of his screen to match only further proves the point. Leaning back in the chair, Mark groans and brings his hands up to rub his probably bloodshot eyes.

Everything hurts. His back is screaming at him for crouching over the laptop for more hours than necessary, his eyes burn from staring at the bright screen, his fingers feel numb from the excessive typing, and he’s pretty sure he’s written the same sentence in four different ways. But he guesses that in the long run, it’s all worth it if he gets a full ride to the university of his dreams.

After reading over the eight-page paper once more, Mark clicks the submit button with hopeful confidence. He was already accepted into the college, but with finances being tight for his family, Mark is really hoping that the scholarship comes through, so he is able to attend without the stress of paying for it being on his parent’s shoulders. 

With a sense of finality, Mark closes the laptop and rolls away from the desk, slumping down in the chair to the point where his head is almost between his knees. It’s not the most comfortable position in the world but when he closes his eyes and allows his body to relax, it’s almost as if he were laying on a bed of clouds. Soon the pressure of his chest against his knees begins to cut off his air supply and he forces his body back up into a sitting position, eyes still practically glued closed.

If it weren’t for the familiar tingle on his foot, Mark could’ve passed out and slept in that crouched position all night. He shoots up as the sensation continues and the chair rolls back from the force of his movement and Mark trips to the hard floor in a loud crash. There’s a sharp pain in his elbow that he does not want to dwell on at all and instead rips his sock off with the speed even a cheetah couldn’t compete with.

Blossoming in swirls on the inside of his foot is intricate curves that seems almost calculated but with a sense of spontaneity. Black lines soon turn into thick smears of bright oranges and soft pinks and Mark watches in awe as a sun makes its way into his skin. He knows that somewhere out in the world, something big must be happening in his soulmate’s life. Although they have never written with words, no matter how many times Mark has tried, little drawings periodically appear in hidden places along his body. Mark figures that after that night years ago, his soulmate feels hesitant to completely reach out to him and Mark is okay with that because he could never describe the pure joy and contentment, he feels waking up to find a small doodle in the most random places.

Soon the pattern stops and there is no more movement of color on his foot. The lines of the sun are messy, like they were rushed and drawn on lazily but to Mark, it’s the greatest drawing of the sun he’s ever seen. In Mark’s eyes, his soulmate puts Van Gogh to shame.

“Cute.” He whispers, reaching up onto his desk to search for the ballpoint pen he was chewing on when writing the essay.

He struggles a bit to grab the pen blindly, but Mark refuses to allow his eyes to leave the temporary tattoo his soulmate left because he doesn’t know when it will be gone. His fingers brush the small object but instead of grabbing it, all he manages to do is push it a little and the force causes it to roll off the desk, hitting him on the head before dropping to the floor with a quiet clink.

Scrambling to grab the pen before it rolls further away, he wraps his fingers around it and ops the cap off in one swift movement. He places the tip of the black pen on his ankle beside where the drawing ends and begins to draw-

“Mark!” Jeno barges into the room, opening the door with such a force that it hits the wall with a bang and rattles the picture frame secured against the wall not too far away. “Guess what!!”

The shock from his brother coming in in such a manner made Mark jump and he looks down to see a long solid line drawn through the middle of the sun, in thick black pen ink.

“God damnit, Jeno!! What could you possibly want right now?!”

The younger boy takes a step back, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. He mutters a small never mind and steps back out of the room, closing the door gently behind him. Mark curses at himself for reacting that way and slips the sock back over his foot before chasing after his younger brother.

He finds Jeno sitting up straight Indian style on his bed, hands twirling his phone in his lap and eyes downcast. Mark immediately feels horrible. He didn’t mean to snap at Jeno like that, the boy hadn’t meant any harm and definitely did not deserve to be treated that way. Although what he did deserve was to be scolded about being awake at this ungodly hour on a school night.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that, it just came out.” Mark walks over and sits on the end of the bed and pats his brother on the shoulder. “Cheer up and tell me what’s up.”  

As if he forgot Mark yelling at him completely, Jeno turns towards Mark and unlocks his phone in the blink of an eye. Before he knows it, Mark has a phone shoved into his face, a small white fluffball displayed on the screen.

Jeno’s eyes twinkle with excitement and Mark’s heart softens, “Hyung! We’re getting a cat!”      

“You can’t just decide at 3am that we’re getting a cat. You’re not the only one who lives in this house, you know.” Mark pushes Jeno’s arm down to lower the phone from his face.

Inside Mark knows that there's more to the kitten story than he lets on. A few days earlier he had overheard Jeno and his parents discussing the idea of getting a cat. Honestly, Mark wouldn’t mind getting a small fluff ball to run around, it would be kinda cute to see his brother fawning over something that isn’t his soulmate. As much as Mark loves Jaemin, he's not too fond of hearing them baby talk to each other and cuddle and kiss all the time on the couch.

“Mom and Dad agreed, thank you very much. Her name is Seol and Jaemin and I are going to pick her up tomorrow after school.” Mark opens his mouth to retort but Jeno beats him to it. “And yes, before you ask, I went to the pharmacy and refilled my allergy medicine yesterday. We’re good, I've got everything figured out.”

“Awe, I’m proud of you. Little baby is growing up and being responsible.” Mark taunts, ruffling Jeno’s hair until the boy is leaning away to get out of Mark’s reach.

Jeno rolls his eyes and pushes Mark’s arm, “You’re only a year older than me, stop acting like you’re so much older.”

“A year is still a year, my precious dongsaeng~~”

Mark shoves Jeno back but the younger boy loses his balance on the bed, tumbling over onto the floor. He grabs Mark’s foot as he falls, causing mark to fall on top of him. Laughs fill the air as they wrestle on the carpeted floor, grabbing and pulling at clothes and attempting to pin the other down. It’s purely playful, with no true aggression or need to harm the other.

Mark catches sight of several of Jaemin’s messages and doodles on Jeno’s body as they wrestle, and Mark can’t help but be slightly envious. Although his soulmate draws things sometimes, they always show up in inconspicuous locations. He knows that it's probably that way so his soulmate can hide the drawings with clothes, and he understands, especially after what happened when they (he assumes) were children. He hopes that one day he will be able to have soulmate marks in very noticeable places and show them off to the world.

In the midst of their fight, they fail to hear the bedroom door of their parent’s room open and the footsteps coming down the hall to follow.

“Boys?”

They freeze mid-action, Mark halfway sitting across Jeno’s chest, holding on pf Jeno’s wrists firmly against the floor and grabbing at the other that is twisted in the back of his shirt. Their mother stands in the open doorway of Jeno’s bedroom, arms crossed as she wraps her baby blue robe around her body, feet clad in gray slippers lined with soft fuzz. She looks at them with an expectant and tired expression, her eyes slightly bloodshot with almost unnoticeable bags beneath.

She begins to tap her foot impatiently when neither of her sons answer her, but instead stare at her unmoving like a deep caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. “It’s almost 4 in the morning, what are you still doing awake? Jeno you have a test in the morning and Mark! It's your first day of the new school! Go to bed!”

They instantly scramble apart, and their mom leans against the wall to watch. Mark gets up and ruffles Jeno’s hair once more before making his way out of the room.

“Goodnight, mom.” Mark kisses his mother on the cheek as he leaves and watches from behind his shoulder as she walks deeper into Jeno’s room to most likely force the boy to forget about the cat for the night and to sleep.

As he washes his face and puts on pajamas Mark thinks about how lucky his life is. He has the best parents and the most precious younger brother, he wouldn’t trade the world for them. And yes, his soulmate who is supposed to be there for him throughout his life isn't anything more than a few random drawings but for now, he's content with that. He knows that from what happened when he was younger, things could have ended up way worse so he can handle this for a little longer. As he lays down and finally closes his eyes, he drifts off to sleep with the hope that one day he’ll be able to meet his soulmate and be able to hold them close and never ever let them go.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

After a light breakfast of strawberry yogurt, buttered toast, and one banana, Mark runs out of the house, the front door slamming closed in his wake. To put it bluntly, he’s late. Very stupidly late. He knows that he probably shouldn't have procrastinated the essay to the day that it was due, and he knows that messing around with Jeno at god knows what hour wasn't his brightest idea but there’s nothing he can do about it now other than run for his life towards the school.

His phone had alerted him when he woke up that the dust levels in the air were significantly low today, so he forgoes his black facemask and shoves it in his pocket. The air is fresh and crisp and flows through his hair as he sprints through the streets of Seoul. He passes the auntie who runs the small tteokbokki stand, she always gives Mark a few extra rice cakes, claiming that he needs the extra to grow up into a strong man. He likes to think its special treatment because she just likes him that much, but he has no way of knowing if she does that for every young person who comes to her stand.

He passes the small coffee shop where he spent practically every afternoon in studying during middle school. People give him strange looks as he weaves through them, but with one glimpse at the yellow school uniform he has on, they disregard him as simply a reckless teenager and go back to busying about. The air is filled with the delicious scent of freshly brewed coffee coming out of the many cafes scattered around and the fresh breeze of autumn makes Mark remember why he loves the fall season so much.

The neutral shades of bright reds, muted oranges, and toned browns of fall come with the promise of sweater weather and chilled wind that nips at his skin. Mark thinks about walking in the park late at night, as the stars shine brightly above him, with a coffee keeping his fingers warm and leaves crunching beneath his feet. Summer is too hot for him, as someone who’s used to the cold temperatures of Canadian weather. Spring brings vibrant flowers and blossoming trees but also comes with the stress of allergies and Winter is okay. Winter he can tolerate of course, after all, he’s accustomed to heavy snowfalls and dropping temperatures. But as he runs past the park and sees how the massive trees have lost their green in favor for pretty reds and oranges, he remembers why Fall is the best.

With the street he needs to turn on to head straight for the school in sight, Mark breaks his run and stops for a second to catch his breath again. He thinks that he really should start working out more seriously if just running to school makes him feel like he’s gonna die any second. He crouches over, hands on his knees and head hung low, his chest heaving with deep breaths. The chilly air burns his throat and lungs, making his mouth watery, but it’s bearable and he welcomes it. With one glance at his watch, Mark realizes that he only has three more minutes to get to class and with the thought that being late on his first day of school wouldn’t leave a very good first impression, he decides to make a break for it.

He never heard the approaching footsteps.

Mark straightens out and takes a step into a run without looking forward first. He slams into a strong back and stumbles back until he falls to his ass on the concrete. Pain shoots up his back but he ignores it and groans as he scrambles to get back to his feet. Once he’s back to his full height he takes in the situation around him. The man towers above him with a dangerous aura that makes Mark want to run all the way back home to his mother. The man’s hair is peppered gray and styled away from his forehead in a blunt sort of quiff that is suitable for older men, but the lines in his face are set angrily. Mark notices the vein in his forehead which looks like it might burst at any second and the harsh line of his clenched jaw and reddening skin.

The man’s suit is obviously very expensive, and Mark immediately starts to flow together many apologies when he notices the giant brown coffee stain steaming from his once white button up dress shirt.

He begins to stalk forwards and one of the young men, who Mark figures are bodyguards of some sort, tries to block his way. The man pushes the guard away with ease and Mark’s eyes widen in fearful anticipation. Mark can't help but left out a small squeak as the man bundles the front of his shirt in his fist and lifts until Mark’s toes are scuffing the concrete and their faces are inches apart. Hot breath reeking of cigarettes fans over his face and as he grips the thick wrists of the man, Mark wishes in that moment that he was anywhere else than this spot on the sidewalk.

“How _dare_ you!” Saliva sprays across Mark’s face as the man yells in his face, gripping his shirt harder until Mark coughs to get air into his lungs.

Mark tilts his head to the left in a vain attempt to remove himself from the presence of the angry man and instantly changes his mind about his favorite season. He looks over the man’s shoulder and lays his eyes on the most beautiful thing Mark has ever seen is his short 18 years on this earth.

Surrounded by two of the young guards dressed in all black suits is a boy. To anybody else this boy would just be an ordinary teenager, maybe viewed as a bit timid from his stance with his face facing down and hands glued together in front of his legs, but ultimately, just a normal student. But to Mark, this boy is the embodiment of the summer sun.

Cigarette breath and spit continues to fan over Mark’s face as the man yells, but Mark is no longer paying attention. His eyes widen and focus on the pretty boy only feet away. The boy’s hair looks like the fluffiest golden cloud at the time when the sun starts to set and the sky turns a beautiful golden orange shade and Mark wants to know what it feels like, he aches to run his finger through the soft looking stands. The boy’s tan skin seems to glow in a bright aura around him and the small moles scattered across his face pair with the cuteness of his small pink mouth that just looks so kissable.

Mark feels his body being shaken by the man holding him up but the last thing Mark wants to do is let his eyes leave the beautiful boy across from him.

But suddenly the boy is no longer there, and Mark’s vision turns unclear and fogy. The back of his head slams against the brick wall of whatever business was there and the world blurs around him. He figures that the man threw him down, but the white-hot pain throbbing in his head makes everything hazy. Groans leave his lips and he sees what looks like six legs walking closer to him.

The man brings his foot back and kicks Mark in the stomach with the force of a soccer player trying to shoot the final goal from halfway across the field. An unbearable pain blossoms from the area and flows through his veins like red hot lava and Mark cries out and lets his body fall to the side until the side of his face is flat on the cold concrete.

“Look at me, you _bastard_.” The man growls with hate in his eyes and grips Mark by the hair, lifting his head up until they are facing each other once again. “Who are you to ruin _my_ shirt? Do you even know who I am!? Filthy scum! How _dare_ you!”

Mark doesn’t care about any words the man spews. All he wants is to be let go because he thinks he can feel his hair being ripped from his skull as the man tightens his grip. He clenches is teeth and hisses in agony as the man throws him back down on the solid concrete, black spots appearing in his already spinning vision. Pain throbs through his whole body and he wonders where the beautiful boy went. Mark hopes that he didn’t have to witness this.

 

 

When Donghyuck noticed the dark brown stain of coffee on the front of his father’s dress shirt, he immediately started praying in his head for the poor soul that caused the accident. He looked about Donghyuck’s age, the teenager standing in front of his dad with now a few splashes of coffee on his school uniform. It doesn't take long for Donghyuck to realize that his uniform matches the other boy’s. He figures that he must be a new student.

Three of the guard’s step-in front of him and Donghyuck thinks that the semi-confused look in the brunet’s face is sort of cute. He kinda looks like a baby lion and it takes all of Donghyuck’s willpower to not let a grin make its way on his face. It’s an easy task to do, concealing his emotions that is. After all, he’s been perfecting it for years. The urge to smile is quickly vanishes when his father creeps forward and grabs the boy by the front of his shirt. The terrified expression that fills the boy’s face is understandable to Donghyuck, he’s been in that position too many times than he’d like to admit, and he wishes that the brunet had ran away when he still had the chance to.

The look on the other boy’s face fills Donghyuck with an urge to actually stand up to his father and with courage he didn’t even know he had in him, Donghyuck takes a step forward as his father starts to yell.

“No, stay back.” The guard hisses, stepping in front of Donghyuck and blocking him with his arms.

Donghyuck doesn’t fight the man, he knows Johnny has the strength and height to stop him no matter what he tries to do. Lowering his head to face the floor, he winces at the groans coming from the boy only a few feet away and feels completely helpless. Donghyuck does the only thing he knows how and starts to crumble into himself, folding his arms in and ducking his head in an attempt to become smaller, less significant, harder to approach.

His father yells followed by more pain inflicting sounds and suddenly the air becomes thick and the concrete begins to blur. Donghyuck stares at his feet and distantly remembers the sun drawing hidden by his socks and hopes that his soulmate is somewhere safe. He begins to hyperventilate, his breaths becoming more and more rapid, short, and desperate. A slap echoes through the air and he wants to throw up.

The guard, Johnny, notices his young master beginning to tremble and becoming weak kneed and immediately grabs him to steady Donghyuck’s stance before turning to his partner.

“We need to get him out of here right now.” Jaehyun practically orders, glancing over his shoulder to see his boss towering over the crying teenager. “I don’t care if he punishes us later for leaving, but we need to get Hyuckie away from this and into the safety of the school. I’m sure Renjun is wondering where we are by now.”

Johnny nods and slings his arm around the boy’s waist, “Alright, Hyuck. We’re going to school now. I need you to breath for me. Remember what we taught you? Count to three, and now… deep breath.”  He looks at Jaehyun, “Please try to get Mister Lee to stop and help that boy whenever you can. He’s wearing the same school uniform as Donghyuck so I’m assuming he’ll need to be at school too, as unfortunate as that is.”

Jaehyun nods and watches as Johnny walks away, supporting Donghyuck as he wobbles forward.

Taking a deep breath and trying to fill himself with the courage he needs, Jaehyun creeps silently over to where his boss is now standing still and looking distantly down at the teenager bleeding and curled into a ball below him.

“Sir, you’re going to be late for work.” Jaehyun tries, letting his hand hover over Mister Lee’s shoulder as if to touch him but then dropping it down to his side.

The older man huffs and pulls out a handkerchief from his jacket pocket to wipe his hands.

“Let’s go then. You there,” he orders, pointing at his assistant who had been lurking in the back away from the scene and clutching a briefcase, “bring the car around.”

The assistant scrambles around, almost dropping his phone in the process and eventually orders the driver to come pick them up as fast as possible. Jaehyun discretely positions himself between his boss and the injured boy, just in case the older man decides to give one final blow. The car rounds the corner in lightning speed and Mister Lee turns, looking Jaehyun directly in the eye with a stern expression that would make any normal individual want to run and hide.

“Dispose of _that_.”

Jaehyun nods and stands tall until the sleek car is completely out of sight before whipping around and crouching down next to the boy. The wind blows, ruffling the boy’s dark hair out of his face and Jaehyun thinks, that in despite everything, it could be much worse. The side of his face is bright red and there’s a small cut, no bigger than three ants, on his cheekbone most likely from a ring the man must have been wearing. Jaehyun figures that most of the actual injuries were beneath the boy’s shirt, across his abdomen and back.

Shaking his shoulder slightly, Jaehyun whispers calmly, “Hey, I’m going to need you to get up. I’ll help, just grab onto me.”

The teenager groans in pain but complies and weakly reaches up to grip Jaehyun’s bicep. It’s a small struggle to get the boy up on his feet, but they manage to do it and Jaehyun has to use most of his strength to support all of the teen’s weight.

“We’re going to have to walk a little bit to get to the school so hang in there. What’s your name?”

“Mark.” The boy says meekly, clenching his teeth as pain shoots up his body with every step.

 

 

As they walk slowly down the sidewalk, Mark becomes vividly aware of all the pedestrians glancing strangely at him and he wonders just how many stopped to watch the show just moments earlier.

“I appreciate the help and all, but who are you?” Mark asks, looking sideways at the handsome man helping him walk.

Mark is pleasantly surprised to see the dimples appear when the man smiles, “I’m Jung Jaehyun. Not that you’ll be happy to hear this, but I’m one of the bodyguards for that man. Don’t look like that, I hate him so much. My job is mainly to look after his son, I try to avoid him as much as I possibly can.”

“I don’t blame you.” Mark huffs. “Who _would_ want to be around someone like that… I feel bad for his son.”

The school comes into view and Mark dreads having to walk into there after everything that has happened. He almost wants to ask Jaehyun to take him far far away from it.

“I feel bad for him too, but it’s been better for him at home. From what I’ve heard, before I came it was really bad so I’m happy to be there to protect him.” Jaehyun smiles again and it almost takes Mark’s breath away. “Alright, here we are. This is my card, feel free to call if you ever need any help and I am so utterly sorry for everything that has happened today, I hope you never go through something like that again.”

Mark takes the small white card gingerly and stares at the digits printed on it before looking back up at Jaehyun.

“Thanks for helping me.”

Jaehyun nods and motions towards the school gates.

 

With a deep breath, Mark walks (well, more like limps) through the open gates. The school towers above him at about five stories and looks more menacing than it probably is. His chest aches with each intake of breath and sharp pain continues to flow through his veins with every step, but it becomes manageable the more he walks.

There is a woman waiting at the steps into the school, wearing a soft baby blue blouse tucked into a long black pencil skirt. Her arms are crossed, and Mark notices her foot tapping relentlessly and he figures that she’s probably been waiting for a while, most likely because of him.

“Are you Mark Lee?” she asks with a soft, yet strict voice and Mark immediately nods. “Follow me, Mister Lee. You’re late, homeroom started five minutes ago.”

Mark mutters an apology and follows fast behind her. If he had been a dog, his tail would no doubt be tucked between his legs. The woman looks at him and he feels a shiver pass through his body. He can’t figure out if she’s giving him a glance of pity or if she’s just disappointed that he’s late on his first day of school. Mark hopes that they don’t inform his mother of him being late, he’s not sure he can handle a second beating today.

He realizes just how big the school actually is when he gets inside. The hallways are wide and seem to go on forever, just a constant pattern of doors, windows, and walls covered in ads for new clubs, sports events, and testing dates. Some doors have shouts echoing out which Mark figures is the teachers scolding an insolent student, but the voices get drowned out by the metronome clicks of the woman’s heels as they walk farther into the maze of classrooms. They pass students carrying books and papers for teachers and counselors on their way to fuel their caffeine addiction.

Once it feels like he cannot go on any longer because of the insistent pain in his abdomen, the teacher stops in front of a classroom and gives him once last undecipherable look before pushing the door open and disappearing inside. Mark follows reluctantly and becomes painfully aware of the twenty something pairs of eyes swallowing his every move.

“This is Mark Lee, our new transfer student. Please treat him kindly.” The woman, who he guesses is his homeroom teacher since there seems to be no other adults in the room, announces. “Mark, would you like to say anything?”

The spotlight turns to him quickly and he feels like a deer in front of an oncoming truck. Mumbling, he quickly bows despite the burn in his body screaming at him to stop and lets out a quiet, “Please take care of me.”

The teacher looks as pleased as she could be with his puny introduction but lets it go.

“There’s an empty desk next to Donghyuck in the back, you may sit there.” She walks behind her desk and begins to tidy up a pile of papers. “Donghyuck, please raise your hand.”

Mark feels like a three headed tiger on display at the national circus as he makes his way through the rows of desks towards the lazily lifted arm in the back corner. As he gets closer to the one he’ll be sitting next to for the rest of the year, Mark almost stops in his tracks. Sitting with his head facing the window and resting in the palm of the hand not hovering above is the actual sun.

In his head, Mark asks all the gods he can think of why his luck is like this? How could he end up being at the same school as the beautiful boy from earlier, let alone sitting right next to him! Mark prays to all those gods that the boy hadn’t seen the whole ordeal of what happened on the sidewalk and lowers himself into the wooden chair.

The boy drops his hand as soon as Mark’s butt makes contact and slowly shifts his position until he’s sitting up straight. Around him, the world seems to freeze in motion as the boy turns his head painfully slow towards Mark. Their eyes meet and Mark figures that there cannot be a single soul in the whole universe more attractive than this boy. He can feel his face heating up and his heart flies into his throat, thumping heavily and faster than ever before and he thinks that maybe there’s more to the summer sun than it lets on.

“Hi, I’m Lee Donghyuck.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive said this so many times before, but now that my economics class has turned into nothing but playing on computers for an hour, im determined to write more!

**Author's Note:**

> this is gonna be a long ass ride and i promise it will get happier! i can't let my sunshine suffer for too long....


End file.
